Broken Pledge Read online

  “Slaves are not even human,” Whitley spit back. Before the words left his lips, he felt the back of Gideon’s huge hand across his face.

  “Did that not feel human?”

  Whitley staggered to keep his balance. Touching the trickle of blood running from his mouth, he renewed his defiant glare. “Stupid darky.”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?”

  “I said, take off your clothes.” Gideon shoved the barrel of the pistol back in the hollow of Whitley’s neck.

  “No.”

  Again, Gideon struck him.

  Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, and the side of his face started to swell. More blood gathered in his mouth and Whitley thought to spit in Gideon’s face, but he turned aside instead. Once more, thunder rolled across the sky and lightning flashed, but this time, the African slaves paid no attention. Instead, loathing and disdain replaced the fear in their eyes.

  “Take off your clothing,” Gideon more loudly demanded, “or I will give you over to them.”

  Whitley looked at the slaves and soon his determination began to dissolve. “What do you mean to do?”

  “I mean to exhibit your nakedness just as you exhibited mine.”

  Whitley looked into the cold eyes of the slaves, glanced at the huge man holding the gun and slowly undressed until he stood naked, with only his hands over his manhood. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked, blood still trickling down his chin.

  “No, I’ve grown far too fond of tracking you. Three days ago, you were in Charlotte. A week before, Charleston. Your ship, which I’m tempted to burn, is moored in Savanna for repairs. I’ll find you again, the only question is when. Now, walk over there,” Gideon said, shoving him toward the wagon.

  “No,” Whitley said, with less conviction.

  Gideon shoved until the naked, pathetic man stood before the slaves. “Drop your hands.”

  Whitley moaned, “Nooo.”

  Gideon slowly lowered the pistol until it pointed at the slave driver’s groin.

  Whitley took a deep breath, let it out slowly, closed his eyes, and removed his hands. As though planned, lightning lit up the sky.

  The slaves laughed and Gideon sneered, “Well, that explains it, you have nothing to offer. Do white women laugh at you?” He waited for an answer he knew would never come. “Go! Be gone. The sight of you sickens me.”

  The slave driver hesitated for only a moment. Then he dashed up the road and quickly darted into the bushes. Relieved at the lack of bullets coming his way, he began to calm just as he heard Gideon shout, “Snakes in these woods.” Instantly, he shot out of the bushes and ran on down the road.

  Gideon scooped up Whitley’s clothes and tossed them in the buggy. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat of the slave wagon, unwrapped the reins, and released the brake. Slowly, he backed the team up until they could easily clear the buggy, and then urged them forward. “Come along, Miss Daisy.” Effortlessly, the mare pulled the buggy out of the ditch and fell in behind the wagon.

  “Where you take us, boss?” a young man asked.

  “Home.”

  “Home?”

  “Aye, to the finest home in Virginia.”

  “YOU’RE LOOKING UNCOMMONLY pleased,” John said, watching Adam climb up Mahala’s high corral fence.

  “Good news, my friend, very good news,” Adam said, swinging one leg over. He wore casual clothing, and for once, he wore no wig.

  “Congress has agreed to set aside land in the Northwest Territories to satisfy Virginia’s bounty claims, finally.”

  “I am delighted. We have waited years for that good tiding.”

  “Indeed we have, and Congress has waited years for Virginia to give up their claim to the rest of the land. It may not have been the best of trades, but at least Virginia will not disappoint her soldiers.”

  “And does General Washington find the trade agreeable?” John asked, watching a colt play in the corral.

  “I’m quite certain he does. He was none to pleased with having to force Congress to pay the military officers who threatened to march on Philadelphia.”

  “He worries the rest of us might think to rebel?”

  Adam chuckled. “That he does.”

  Both men turned toward the fenced area across the road to watch an African man ride a horse in a circle, teaching it to halt, and then start again. “Has Congress said which land we are to receive?” John asked.

  “The best land in the territory. It is the same land King George promised his militia after the war with France. Few Brits settled naturally, what with the Indian problem and all. Tell me, did you see any of the land north of the River Ohio?”

  “No, we stayed in the south.”

  “They say it is far more desirable than the Kentucky, bounty land.”

  “Do they?” John asked. “I cannot think how it could be. In Kentucky, a man can pause to watch the spring rain, and then count the colors of the rainbow. He can hold out a handful of grain and have a skittish deer nibble at it. And with such bountiful crops, he can ease his fear of starvation. I tell you, there were times in the war I would have preferred a British bayonet to the hunger in my belly. In the forest of Kentucky there is food aplenty. And there is peace...peace for a man’s haunted soul.”

  “You miss it still. Have you considered taking Hester?”

  “Hester belongs in the comforts of Virginia, she could not survive the wilderness.”

  “Could Rose survive it?”

  John turned to watch Adam’s face. “You hope to see Kentucky?”

  “Of a late afternoon, when I’ve had my fill of legislators, yes. And speaking of Rose, she has an announcement to make at dinner.”

  “She is with child.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Papa guessed and I could not be more pleased. I’d begun to think both our wives barren,” John playfully slapped Adam on the back.

  Adam sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “So had I. And I’ve more good news. The British demand payment of all debts incurred before the war, and Virginia passed a law forbidding it. ‘What was war for,’ the Empire asks, ‘if not to avoid our burdensome debts?’ Naturally, the British will retaliate and confiscate our wares at sea. We’ll take a bit of theirs – and in no time at all, the British will fire their cannons and blow us to India.”

  “Have we no cannons?”

  “Cannons? John, we hardly have ships. What we need is a king!”

  “Do kings come complete with ships and cannons?”

  Adam suddenly frowned. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.” He swung his leg back over, glanced at the house and spotted a man standing on the back verandah with Caleb and Uriah. “Who can that be?”

  The man wore blue, wide-bottom pants, a green vest, a thin yellow tie loosened at the collar, and a short, round hat.

  “MacGreagor! At last!” John answered, jumping down off the fence. With Adam following, he hurried around the bunkhouses, across the yard and up the steps. When he reached MacGreagor, he grabbed the one-armed sea captain’s empty right sleeve and began to shake it. “You’ve not changed a bit.”

  “And why should I?” MacGreagor asked. “I’ve me lady on land and me lady at sea, both of which like me fine the way I am. And I’ll thank ye not to muss me shirt.”

  “How is your lady on land and the children?”

  “They be fine, the wee ones be nearly growed,” MacGreagor answered. “I see you’ve got a handsome wife. She’s not yet run off from the likes of you?”

  “Not yet,” John grinned.

  “See she be attended rightly, John Carson, or I’ll nab her for me own.”

  “I’d have to call you out, sir. And I’m beyond firing with my left hand, simply because you have no right.”

  “I’ll have ye know...” MacGreagor started.

  The backdoor opened and Elizabeth stepped out. “The noon meal is upon us, gentlemen. You’ll stay, will you not, Mister MacGreagor?”

/>   “A pleasure, Mum.” MacGreagor sharply nodded his head, caught his hat with his only hand, and then offered his good arm to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth smiled, took the ship captain’s arm and waited until Caleb held the door. “MacGreagor, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Precisely, how much rum do we have?”

  Shocked, Caleb gasped and shot MacGreagor a pleading look.

  “Rum?” MacGreagor asked as he escorted Elizabeth through the kitchen and watched Caleb scurry to get in front of them.

  “Yes, rum. The Carson men seem to have an endless supply of it, and I believe you are to blame.”

  “Me? ‘Tis not me. I set me sights for Sweden, Russia, France and Spain these two years. I’ve me land legs only ten days, Mum.”

  “Elizabeth,” Caleb began, opening the dining room door. “I...”

  “There you are, Mister MacGreagor,” Hester interrupted, already seated with the others at the table. “Do sit by me. My first husband told such glorious tales of the sea. Have you seen many whales?”

  MacGreagor was happy to change the subject and grinned. “Aye.” He escorted Elizabeth to her chair, waited for her to sit, then took the chair next to Hester. “I’ve seen a hundred if I’ve seen a one. Me first sighting was...”

  MacGreagor’s stories about whales, dolphins, sea monsters and privateering lasted until well after dinner was finished. Then Hazel dished up ample servings of apple-pie, and MacGreagor, especially, paused to savor the taste.

  “And where have you been?” Effie asked finally. “Just now, I mean. You couldn’t have been privateering, the war is over.”

  “I’ve come straight away from England,” MacGreagor answered.

  “No,” Adam said, a surprised look on his face.

  “I have, and I’ll thank ye not to doubt me word.”

  “I only meant...” Adam tried.

  “And they let you land?” Uriah interrupted.

  “They did. We had with us three bags of post from America. Old as it may have been, me ship was heartily welcomed by the people. Landed in Bristol, we did.”

  “Were you the first Americans to land since the war?” John asked.

  “Sadly, no, but our landing caused an uproar just as soon as people heard of the post arriving.”

  “MacGreagor,” Uriah thoughtfully asked, “are the British likely to resume trade with us anytime soon?”

  “I tell ye true, the shores of England be a privateer’s paradise. They’ve stacked their wares to the heavens, loaded their ships, and by now, have surely set sail.”

  “To where?” Rachel asked.

  “Here,” Adam said, dropping his fork in his plate.

  “At last,” Elizabeth put in, “we’ll have paper and new books to read.”

  “And buttons,” Rose added.

  “And pots,” Hester said.

  “Pots?” John asked.

  But Adam was distressed by the news. “We should have closed our ports.”

  “But why?” Suzanne asked. “Everyone’s been praying for trade with England.”

  “Trade, yes. But they’ve no intention of allowing our goods to land in England. They will fill our markets and sail happily away with what little money the Empire has left.”

  “Credit,” MacGreagor muttered.

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Oh splendid, and us without a tariff to our names. Even if the British agreed to let us land our goods, their tariffs would be unbearable. But Congress cannot agree on tariffs, so we’ll not collect so much as a farthing. Gentlemen, we just lost the war!”

  “Oh, Adam,” Rose moaned.

  “It is not too late, we are British, after all,” said John. “I say we switch sides.”

  “Well, I don’t care about tariffs,” Elizabeth scoffed, tears suddenly in her eyes. “I just want the world set straight again.”

  Caleb reached over and patted his wife’s hand. “It will be, my dear, and soon. I beg of you, please don’t cry.”

  “Do you promise?” Elizabeth asked, dabbing at her tears with a table napkin.

  Effie discretely leaned over until she could whisper in her twin sister’s ear. “He’d promise her anything to keep her from crying.”

  “So would I,” Abby whispered back.

  For a moment, the room quieted. Everyone was finishing the last bit of apple-pie, or contemplating something else to talk about when MacGreagor finally spoke up. “Mister Carsons, I’ve a word for ye from England.”

  “We no longer have acquaintances in England,” Uriah said.

  “Aye, but you do – Mister Thomas Rodes.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Who?” Rose asked.

  “Thomas Rodes, our brother’s son,” Caleb answered.

  Uriah cocked his head to one side and glared at Caleb. “He is not our brother.”

  “Go on, MacGreagor,” said John.

  “I’d not been in Bristol a week when he came to me ship, and he came with gifts to bear. He said to say he’s a bit of history to tell.” MacGreagor got up and walked to the door. “Bring’em in, mates.”

  Two burly sailors appeared carrying a heavy painting wrapped in paper. MacGreagor quickly moved the candelabra and silver bowl to one side of the long bureau and waited for them to set the painting down. “Mister Rodes knew me name, and that me ship be a Carson ship.”

  “How?” Caleb asked.

  MacGreagor dismissed the sailors before he answered, “That, he would not say.”

  The room was oddly quiet when MacGreagor used his good hand to tear away the paper. When he was finished, he retook his seat. The painting was of a man leaning against the trunk of a tree. Behind him, rays of sunlight streamed through a break in the storm clouds and illuminated a three-story mansion. The man had brown hair, blue eyes, a friendly smile and a mustache. He wore a white shirt, black breeches and white leggings. And over the shirt, he had on a green vest and jacket adorned with gold buttons. Around his neck hung a large medallion.

  “Who is it?” Caleb asked.

  Uriah’s eyes were glued to the painting. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What, Papa?” asked John.

  Slowly, Uriah pulled his gaze away and looked at Elizabeth. “He was Sir Blakely Stuart, your father.”

  “My father?” Elizabeth’s jaw dropped.

  “You do look a bit like him, Mama,” Rose said.

  “Do I?”

  Once more, Caleb patted his wife’s hand and watched for tears in her eyes. “You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

  “I very well might, I don’t remember him at all.”

  “How could you, you were only five when they were executed,” said Uriah.

  “Executed?” Effie gasped.

  “You have not told them?” Uriah asked, turning to Caleb.

  “They are not old enough.”

  “We’re nearly fourteen,” Abby demanded. “Does everyone else know?”

  “I don’t,” Hester answered.

  Under the table, John took hold of his wife’s hand. “I’ll explain later.”

  “There be another gift,” MacGreagor went on, reaching in his shirt. With great care, he pulled out a folded piece of cloth. He got up, walked around the table and handed it to Uriah. Hesitantly, Uriah took it. He carefully unfolded the cloth and then caught his breath. Embroidered on the dark blue material was a large white dog, its tail yet unfinished.

  The torment was obvious on Uriah’s face as he ran his finger gently across the silk threads. Finally, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “What the bloody hell is the man up to?”

  “What, Papa?” John asked.

  Uriah took a deep breath, slowly let it out and frowned. “‘Tis my mother’s unfinished sewing. I pleaded to have it when she died, but Sir William said no. Now his son sends it, knowing full well the pain he sends with it.”

  “Papa, do explain. I don’t understand.”

  “It was this cushion she set aside the day they took father from us. She never went back to it, not in the three months before
she died. Thomas Rodes uses it to taunt me. He makes a mockery – even of this.”

  For an uncomfortable moment, all eyes watched in silence as Uriah carefully refolded the cloth.

  “But, brother, the man was not yet born. Perhaps he does not know of its significance,” Caleb said at length.

  “Why send precisely this then? In the gallery, there are dozens of paintings, yet, he chose that one. How could he know which painting to send?”

  “Our brother must have told him,” Caleb muttered.

  Uriah erupted in anger and began to rise, “He is not our brother! I’d never seen him before the day they put our mother in her grave. He is a fraud and a blackguard.”

  “Papa, do calm yourself.”

  “Calm myself? Do you see that painting? Why did not I go back for it – for your mother’s sake? He looks so very alive, not at all the bloody mess he was when last she saw him.”

  “You could not have known the paintings yet existed,” Caleb said.

  “Yes, but I never thought to find out. That is our house in the painting, and I have always known how to breech it. Don’t you see, if he still has this one, he still has all the others. I’d give half my life to see the portraits of my parents again.” Abruptly, Uriah stormed out of the room.

  John quickly got to his feet. “Papa, wait.”

  “Leave him be, son,” Caleb said.

  Reluctantly, John eased back into his chair and glanced at the others. Then he lowered his eyes and slowly shook his head. “I regret to say, I’ve never taken the trouble of understanding his pain.”

  “I doubt any of us could,” Elizabeth softly said.

  “Where do you think he’s gone?” Effie asked.

  It was Elizabeth who answered, “Where he always goes...to the cemetery to be with the only one who could understand his pain.”

  “Was Grandfather truly a bloody mess?” Abby asked.

  A FULL HOUR PASSED before John headed up the path to Mahala’s cemetery, quietly stepped over the log, and sat down beside his father. “MacGreagor invites us to Yorktown Saturday next.”